Splinter
by Blue Moon3
Summary: Harry has been teaching at Hogwarts for three years, waiting for the final showdown with Lord Voldemort. As the moment of reckoning draws nearer, Harry wonders if he's really the right man for the job. HPSS-WIP CHAP 6 ADDED
1. Worst Hangover Ever

_Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, place names or any of the recognisable Potterverse things. They are property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. I merely borrow them for my own amusement. This fic has been inspired by the album "Splinter" by The Offspring and, while I don't think it's going to become a songfic, their lyrics may be quoted in dialogue or narrative from time to time. Chapter headings will also be taken from The Offspring's song names. Lyrics and titles are courtesy of Dexter Holland and the rest of the band. I don't own them either, unfortunately. The story itself is mine, so please email me if you want to rec or archive it. Or to give me feed back. Or you could just email me randomly!_

_Author's Notes: Chocolate-covered Snapes to anyone who can spot an Offspring quote! Please leave reviews or any other kind of feedback, because it's nice to know just how much I'm despised. (Also, for some reason will no longer allow me to use stars to separate sections of my story, so I've used --- instead.)_

**Chapter One - Worst Hangover Ever**

"Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four."

Harry flicked open his books, eyes dazedly taking in the faded text there. Another three hundred and ninety-four, another lesson and another bloody hangover!

"'Werewolves and Their Distinctive Features'. I'd like you all to read through the next two pages and, in your own words, describe the average werewolf in terms of psychology and physiology. You have the rest of the lesson to complete." Harry winced and, removing his glasses, rubbed his eyes as twenty-five books slapped open. He heard an unsuccessfully disguised snort of laughter from the Hufflepuff side of the classroom. "In silence if you don't mind, Hopkirk."

The only thing worse than a hangover on a Monday morning was a classroom full of teenagers who knew you had a hangover and had no sympathy for you. Harry would have gone to Madame Pomfrey for a remedy, but the last time he had asked for such a cure she had given him such a filthy look that he wasn't sure his head could stand the intensity of her disapproval on this occasion. Going to Snape would be even worse, simply because Snape had witnessed the previous night's exploits.

Another thing worse than the combination of teaching and hangovers: one's boyfriend being found quite publicly infla grande with another man. Really, very publicly. That public being a reasonable percentage of seventh years and most of one's colleagues.

"In the toilets at the Three Broomsticks. My brother _saw_ them!"

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff, Hopkirk. Kindly keep your diatribe to where you are less well informed and continue with your essay."

This really was going to be the worst hangover ever.

The whispers followed him for the rest of the morning. Like the dull throbbing at his temple, they were irritating and persistent. He was very pleased to at least mildly relieve both by slumping down next to Professor Granger at lunch.

"Drink it straight down," she said, pushing the small blue bottle towards him. "Just pretend it's a shot of fire whiskey and you shouldn't find it too difficult. You should be thankful that some of us keep a mildly civil relationship with Severus Snape."

Harry cringed at the taste but did as instructed, concentrating on the potion's soothing effect. "Why is it every time I drink alcohol something terrible happens?"

"Maybe it's the powers that be telling you that going to a party on a school night isn't a good idea." Hermione's voice was prim, even as she smirked over her nut roast.

"Or trying to hammer home the point that I simply can't be a saviour _and_ have a functional adult relationship."

"It really is asking a little much, don't you think?" She grinned at her friend. "Still, it could be worse. Your 'coming out' was quite spectacular."

Harry chuckled. "It took Filch a whole week to scrub 'Harry Potter gives great head' off of the Astronomy Tower. I think that will forever be Draco's greatest gift to future editions of Hogwarts: A History."

He may have laughed, but Hermione knew from experience that Harry hated unwanted attention. "Are you alright, though?"

"Never better." The young professor poked half-heartedly at his potatoes.

"I'm serious, Harry. You just disappeared from the pub last night. We were really worried."

He shrugged. "I thought enough of a scene had been caused already." He looked at his friend earnestly. "I know you tried to warn me about this, and I really was going to end it. I mean, I've been so involved in stuff for the Order it was coming from a mile off. I promise you I'll be fine. It's all over, and I'm just going to concentrate on the million other things that need my attention right now."

Hermione, thought not entirely convinced, was satisfied that her closest friend was at least not having an immediate emotional breakdown. She allowed her attention to drift back to that morning's Daily Prophet.

"Have you seen this?" Hermione indicated the headline.

"I know, Dovetown's been taken. Only to be expected. Hogsmead's the only safe place left, almost. They're getting closer and it's just a matter of time before they try to take the village."

"For heaven's sakes, Potter, lower your voice." Professor MacGonagall leant over Hermione and whispered, "We will all discuss this at eight o'clock tonight in the Headmaster's office. Don't be late, either of you."

Harry shared a grimace with Hermione. "An emergency Order meeting - the perfect end to the perfect day."

---

"Dennis Creevey said the guy wasn't even good looking."

"Well I heard that it took them ten minutes to figure out anyone was there, watching them."

"What kind of moron would cheat on Professor Potter, any? I mean, he's loaded _and_ gorgeous!"

"They were supposed to be making so much noise you could hear it from outside the pub."

Not for the first time, Harry walked quickly through the halls of Hogwarts with his head lowered, hoping no one would notice him. The grapevine had clearly shot into action, and while the comments were expected, it made them no less painful to hear.

In Dumbledore's office Harry noticed all talk stopped as he entered. With a heavy sigh he dropped into his seat between Remus Lupin and Professor Snape. Remus, who had also been at the seventh years Solstice party at the Three Broomsticks, laid his hand on Harry's arm. "How are you holding up?"

"Well, the hangover's gone," Harry replied.

"I meant Owen. Have you heard from him?"

"Please, Lupin, not now."

The sound of a throat being cleared came from his left. "When Mr. Potter is quite finished airing his sordid private life," Professor Snape said in a ringing voice, "There are rather more important matters at hand to discuss."

"Thank you, Severus. That will do." Professor Dumbledore stood and motioned for silence. The last four years of war had truly taken their toll on his physical appearance and Harry was very vividly reminded that there are more ways to die than at the wrong end of your enemy's wand. In the time since Voldemort had returned, Dumbledore had been forced to dual with Death Eaters and government officials alike. He had won every campaign against the latter and succeeded in instating most of the Order of the Phoenix members at Hogwarts, but the energy it had taken made him look and feel every day of his age.

"For those of you who have not heard the news via our media friends, a message was sent to me in the early hours of this morning that Voldemort and his followers had stormed Dovetown and, meeting with very little resistance, have by now gained control there. The Dark Lord's reign widens and, with the Ministry of Magic so recently dissolved, he will be finding his task an easy one. I need not tell you that Hogsmead, Glastonberry and Snowdonia are now the only magical districts still free, and from recent events we may safely assume that his eye is now fixed on Hogsmead. This is, of course, not the first time certain of use have been through a crisis such as this. He succeeded last time, but will not again. We are more and we are stronger, and we shall work together to see that there is at least one wizarding community in Britain still safe. Those without essential duties within the school shall be placed on a rota for twenty-four hour sentry duty and the Hogsmead gates. Those in most need of protection," his gaze here fell on Severus Snape, who lowered his head and pretended not to notice, "Shall be carefully looked after.

"As far as school life is concerned, NEWT students will, as of next week, be taking mandatory defence and duelling lessons. I will leave its organisation to you, Harry, if I may. Perhaps Severus would consent his assistance?" The Professor nodded his assent. "Hogsmead trips for the rest of the year are cancelled, obviously. Any further arrangements will be announced as and when suitable." The Headmaster smiled. "That is all. Enjoy your evenings."

Before Harry could make a hasty escape, he heard a low voice in his ear. "I would take a few minutes of your time, Potter. That is, if you can drag yourself from your hectic social life." Snape took Harry's arm in a firm grip and steered him from the office.

"Certainly Professor." Harry had learned a long time ago that, when trying to get rid of his colleague, it was best to keep conversation to a minimum.

"I suggest classes for the duelling be Gryffindor-Hufflepuff and Slytherin-Ravenclaw, therefore eradicating any major rivalries that might distract adolescent minds. With the two yeargroups that will be two classes each, although I wouldn't be surprised if Headmaster decides to extend this to the younger years also. Do you concur?"

"Not quite," Harry admitted. "It would be more sensible to co-tutor, I think. We could more safely demonstrate complex or harmful spells. Afterall, who cares if either of us end up in the hospital wing? And it would also make lighter work of cleaning up any fuck ups if we're both there."

"Being better acquainted with fucking up than myself, I'll leave that decision to you. I'm apparently rather under your thumb in this matter, anyway – such a pity your former lover couldn't boast a similar position."

Harry refused to look up and see the smirk he knew rested on Snape's thin lips. "If that's all-"

"Terrible business last night, Potter. You certainly have my condolences," he added in a tone of mock-sympathy. "But then, Owen Pritchard always was the rent boy type. The sort to follow his penis into any situation."

Harry breathed deeply and tried to count to ten as they reached his chamber door.

"But then, who would have guessed he'd follow it right into another man's rectum?"

_Fuck counting to ten!_

"Now look here, despite all appearances to the contrary I actually cared about Owen. He might have had his faults, but I wanted us to have a future together, and it's now been made rather obvious that's never going to happen. I get that. I do not need anyone – not Hermione, or Remus, or even you – to tell me how stupid I've been to be trusting him for the last year, when all he was doing was screwing around. So when you're next planning on imparting your great wisdom on my ever deserving back, just bog off. I don't want to know!"

Harry drew breath, disgusted to feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He wrenched the door open and left Snape on its other side. "Good night!"

_Additional notes: 'Page 394' is an homage to the great Alan Rickman, au naturelement (Spelled wrong, I know – my French is appalling!). Please leave feedback. Just a small reminder._


	2. Spare Me the Details

_Disclaimer: All characters, place names and other things recognisable as being from the Harry Potter-verse are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers, and are in no way owned by me. 'Spare Me the Details', 'Splinter' and other references to works of the Offspring are property of The Offspring band members. The lyrics I occasionally quote are the work of Dexter Holland, International Man of Genius. And finally, certain elements of this chapter are attributed and/or quoted from Graham Norton's autobiography, 'So Me'. I couldn't help myself. It seems no one can be a pretentious arrogant teenager quite like Graham!_

_Summary: In which Harry makes a decision and Severus makes an apology._

**Spare Me the Details**

Harry was curled up on his sofa, still in his teaching suit, with an open bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale warming in his lap. Although not usually the philosophic type, Harry couldn't help but be in deep meditation over the ragged tatters of his love life, conveniently wrapped up in the letter that lay open and forlorn beside him like a spurned lover. The actuality of it was quite the opposite.

It had arrived in the Great Hall that morning with the normal owl mail. Harry had recognised the handwriting and immediately passed it to Hermione. "Open this and tell me if it's safe, will you?"

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, but took the letter and scanned it quickly. "Good grief, Harry, how did you put up with such a moron for a whole year?"

"That bad, is it?"

Hermione folded the letter carefully. "Well, credit where credit's due, I'll give him full marks for spelling, not to mention imagination." She handed the missive back to him. "It's probably best left until you're alone with a beer, I think."

Harry nodded, taking back the letter and slipping it into his trouser pocket. He had heeded the advice of his friend and was happy for it when he finally did read words that, although meant to supplicate, could only cause hurt and indignation.

Let me take a moment, my reader, to tell you that I could use my power as narrator to carefully edit or delete entirely the letter from Harry's former lover. It will certainly not show our hero's taste in a favourable light, which may bias you against him at a later stage. I will on this occasion, however, deliver my duty in full and hope you will not shoot the messenger for such conceited words.

"_Dearest Harry,_

_My passionate affairs may have been an avant garde and rash thing to do, considering our humble little relationship, but you must let me explain! … Actually, I can't! Funny that, isn't it? Me! Who always had an explanation for everything!_

_We must finish it here, of course. If you're going to put an end to something then do it with fireworks, I say! A good ting you're so used to publicity, isn't it, darling? I feel like I should be writing a long, clarifying exposition on my sordid double life like they do in the tabloids. But if you know me as well as you pretend you do, you'll know I couldn't clarify a steamed up window!_

_I had better end this rambling missive here. It's been a marvellous affair with a cinematic departure – Hurrah for the 'us' that was!_

_From the boy your are / were / will be fond of,_

_Owen._

P.S. – If you really do want to know about my sordid double life, ask your charming bushy-haired friend. She always was a nosy cow!"

It was in these quiet moments, beer in hand and mind pondering pretentious words, that Harry reached an epiphany. Without violence or hatred, he screwed up the letter and tossed it into the open fire before him. He watched the fire consume its edges, they curled and blackened into nothing.

"Spare me."

---

"Are you alright?"

Harry sighed. "Ask me that particular question in that particular tone of voice again and I'm telling Remus about that dream you had in the sixth year.""

They shared a rueful smile and got down to the more important matter of breakfast. "Someone's been looking for you."

"Oh?"

Hermione nodded. "Severus asked me where you were. I told him you were usually quite late to breakfast, which got a sneer. Something to do with the duelling?"

Harry shrugged. "Could be, but I doubt it. We sorted most of the details out last night. It will probably be quite similar to the DA meetings, but on a larger scale. I'm actually quite looking forward to it."

Hermione was not easily distracted. "It was for something more personal, then?"

"Maybe. Why all the interest?"

She smiled sweetly and patted his arm. "I'm your friend, Harry. It's my job to take an interest. Snape never asked where you were when you were in a relationship, you know, and it's really pretty rare for him to be interested in anything and, well … He is gay." She paused for a moment. "Isn't he?"

Harry snorted. "Oh yes. Not that it makes the slightest bit of difference to your little world of madness, but he's gay."

"You sound awfully sure for someone who's indulging my 'little world of madness'."

"What can I say? Homosexual sixth sense is a marvellous gift! Not that I think I really want to hear the answer, but why are you making such an inarticulate point about Snape being gay?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "You're not going to like this, but I know from personal experience that the best thing to do when you fall off a broomstick is to climb straight back on again."

"You have actually gone insane, haven't you?" Harry laughed out loud and shook his head. "I told you yesterday, Hermione. I'm going to concentrate on what's important from now on. There will be no climbing, and certainly no riding. Especially not with Snape!"

"Fine," Hermione replied. "But don't come crying to me when you're dying of sexual frustration."

---

Harry sauntered into the staff room flushed with the joy of a morning free period. He pulled the morning's inter-school mail from his pigeonhole and flicked through it: PTA newsletter, dinner invitation from Hagrid - just the usual, really. He paused. A small, folded piece of parchment with 'Professor Potter' addressed in a familiar script. He opened it and mumbled the words to himself.

"Potter,

I meant no real offence in what I said yesterday. I hadn't thought you the type for a relationship with real emotional attachment. Apparently I was wrong. Don't get used to it.

Below is my suggested timetable for the Duelling. If these are acceptable to you, I will see you tomorrow evening.

S. Snape"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Today was apparently a day for correspondance of all kinds that were strange. His mind flashed back to what Hermione had said, but he dismissed her ambitious matchmaking just as quickly. Stranger things had happened than Snape having a momentary personality transplant (Although Harry couldn't himself remember when) and if there was anyone less interested in procuring a partner than himself, it was most definitely Professor Severus Snape.

He took a spare bit of parchment and scribbled a quick affirmative for the Professor, before sitting with his third year term papers and setting to the nice, normal, not-at-all strange task of marking.

---

Harry fingered his wand nervously as the Great Hall began to fill. This was the first attempt at a supervised duelling class since the Lockhart fiasco – which, coincidentally, had also involved Professor Snape. He had taught some jinxes and counter-curses in the DA, but never on this scale or with a demonstration with a rather powerful former Dark Wizard.

Speak of the devil, Harry thought. The Potions Master was making his way hastily through the throng. "Bloody first years should be studying pyrotechnics, not Potions."

Harry was surprised to feel his lips curling into a smile. "The latest Weasley made a Sneakoscope explode today. Believe me, I feel your pain!"

Severus quickly pulled off his teaching robes and overcoat. Harry had had the foresight to change into a T-shirt already – ease of movement in a duel could prove the difference between dodging into safety and growing a second head. "I'll just go and start things off," Harry said, striding towards the front of the room.

They were both carefully skirting around the morning's note, but then Harry had expected no less. He climbed onto a chair and stepped up onto the teacher's table, their makeshift stage. The house tables had all been cleared to the edges of the room. "If everyone would like to come a bit closer, we're ready to begin." Harry paused, waiting for the chatter to abate. "OK. Welcome to your first Duelling class. As many of you will know, You Know Who has been getting closer and more powerful than ever before, and Professor Dumbledore thinks it's important that everyone be as capable of self-defence as possible. I want to stress right now that this class is for defence, not attack. From what I've seen in the corridors you're all perfectly well equipped for that already."

There was a scattered titter, and Harry saw his colleague stepping up onto the other end of the table in his shirtsleeves. "I must very quickly stress that this could become a dangerous situation if you don't all listen and do as you're told. There will be severe point reductions for anyone choosing to be disruptive.

"Professor Snape and I will now demonstrate what we will be working on this lesson. He will throw 'Expalliarmus' at me, a spell I know you're all familiar with, and I will deflect it by pushing the spell away from myself and towards a place that will cause no harm."

Harry walked to the centre of the table, where Severus awaited him. They both bowed and turned to walk ten paces in opposite directions. He had never known why they indulged in such a pointless formality – he'd certainly never had Voldemort bow to him before any torture began, and it seemed vaguely stupid to teach the students to expect such a courtesy.

When they faced each other again, Harry was sorely reminded of the Occlumency lessons he had been made to continue until he finished school. Snape was gazing at him intently, a cobra with his prey in sight. It wasn't too large a stretch of the imagination to think that the man was trying to read his mind. He wondered how that gaze would feel now if filled with the hatred that Snape had felt for him years ago, when Harry rarely met his eyes. He wondered how he would feel if there was something worse than Expelliarmus coming his way.

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry saw the shimmer of magic flying towards him before he heard the word, and had already muttered the deflection out of pure reflex. The spell was flicked to the right where it hit the wall and the castle absorbed it. History had not repeated itself. He had not suffered Gilderoy Lockhart's defeat. Everything was different now.

They both walked back to the centre table. "Right, separate into pairs and take turns to practice the defence charm. Be sure to direct your deflections to the ceiling. Professor Potter and I will be circulating to assess your progress."

Snape motioned for Harry to precede him and, as he passed, muttered, "Not bad, Potter."

---

_AN: This chapter was a bit of silliness before the bad things start to happen. If you enjoyed, please don't forget to leave a review._


	3. Race Against Myself

_Disclaimer: The characters, place names and all other things recognisable from Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Only the plot is mine. Song titles and lyrics used in this story are from The Offspring and are the property of Dexter Holland and his band. I don't own them, either._

_Summary: In which Professor Dumbledore contemplates, Severus Snape makes a joke and Harry Potter has a visitation._

**Race Against Myself**

"Hello Fawkes." Professor Dumbledore turned his head to observe his phoenix, and long time companion, who had landed on his shoulder.

Fawkes chirped inquisitively.

"I was just watching the students leave. They must be so pleased to be going home." Outside the tower's circular window storm clouds were gathering, throwing shadow over the black-clad figures below. Dumbledore stepped away from the window and swept his hand over the large pillar candle on his desk, illuminating the area.

"How pleasant to still have one's flame glowing brightly, especially at Christmas." He sighed, picking up the Daily Prophet. "Everyone seems to have decided mine has burnt out. The truth is Fawkes, I'm not far from agreeing. It must be nice to be forever living without fear of your light going out, Fawkes?"

The phoenix gave a low chirp.

"Well, you always were contrary. You will at least admit, I hope, that things are not going so well for me. Here, listen to this: 'Despite near-constant pressure from prominent and well respected members of the magical community, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school, persists in supporting the traditional curriculum. The preferred, reformist lesson-plans, designed by former Minister for Education, Gregory Nott, has already been successfully used in smaller schools in the London and Cardiff areas.' Then it goes on to a load of rubbish about Lucius Malfoy trying to reinstate government when we all know he's the reason it was torn down."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "It's worse than it was, Fawkes. Voldemort has never been this close to Hogwarts before, and he's certainly never openly tried a take over. All those with the sense to see a threat are fleeing for Ireland, and I can't say I blame them. The media controls all, it would appear. After all these years of fighting and death, I'm further back than when I started. I think we're losing the race." He looked closely at the phoenix. "I am an old man now. I cannot do this for much longer."

Muffled shrieks of laughter brought his attention back to the window. The clouds had broken and snow fell thick and fast. It settled on the last two figures beneath his window. Two men stood close together, both with dark hair and pale skin, watching the thestral-pulled carriages depart. As he watched, the taller man bent to speak in the other's ear. He laughed at the shared joke and, in laughing, revealed himself to be Harry.

"There is nothing left for me, Fawkes. But I may make certain that things are different for those I love."

---

"Bye, Professor Potter!" screamed a group of third year girls, leaning out of their carriage window. He raised his arm in farewell, and they retreated inside giggling.

Harry rolled his eyes, Snape silently smirking beside him. "Thank goodness for that, I thought we'd never get them all loaded in. Now Christmas can begin properly."

"Are you sure famous Harry Potter won't miss his adoring throng?"

The young Professor had to look up at the other man's face. It was always hard to tell whether or not he was joking. No, joking was the wrong word. Perhaps, to tell whether or not he was really angry or speaking with disdain would be more suitable.

On this occasion there was a very slight curve to the lips and, incidentally, snowflakes melting into his hair. "Let's see – staff piss up versus teenagers faking obsessions with Grindylows for attention. Which would you choose?"

The older man's lips twitched into a small smile. "I hope you're not looking forward to your first Hogwarts staff party too much."

Harry had missed the last three Christmases at Hogwarts, favouring a festive time at the Weasleys'. This year, however, after the tragic death-in-combat of Arthur Weasley and the move of the rest of the family to Hogsmead, Harry thought everyone would be more comfortable if he stayed at the castle.

"I'm quite looking forward to it, actually. Why? They can't be all that bad."

"They tend to fall into two categories: the mind-numbingly dull or the cringe-worthy. It all depends on how much alcohol Dumbledore can get down everyone's throats, and I have reason to believe this year he's going to be at his most persuassive."

No matter how Snape tried, Harry was determined he would not give in. He would enjoy Christmas at Hogwarts while he still could. "Why should you dislike it so much? Surely _you've_ never been effected by Professor Dumbledore's efforts."

"Only indirectly, I'm relieved to say. Although, I have seen horrors would only disturb your nightmares, Potter. It takes a real man with a strong stomach," he leaned close to Harry's ear and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper, "To witness Minerva MacGonagall merrily losing a game of strip charades!"

Harry burst into laughter, looking up into Snape's poker face in disbelief. "If only you were more of a practical joker, I could believe it never happened. But I know too much about our colleague's love of the good scotch stuff! How do you manage to work with her every day?"

"The same way I got through that night. I look into the eyes, and no where else."

The young man smiled as they turned to go back into the castle. "Well, it's always best to look on the bright side. At least my Christmas will be a lively one. Perhaps this year the bad luck will fall on someone who looks better in their birthday suit."

Harry blushed as soon as the innocently meant words had left his mouth. He was reminded of Hermione's implications, and could only hope that the two most intelligent people he knew didn't follow the same patterns of logic.

Severus' look was unreadable. "Anyone would think you were keen to climb back onto the broomstick."

"That was Hermione's advice, which I'm feeling free to ignore. I think I'm ready to put men on hold for a while, concentrate on-"

"On more important things. Yes, I do know." They stopped at the staircase to the dungeons. Harry could see Snape was considering his words carefully, and when he spoke it was in a measured tone. "Never make the mistake of considering _yourself_ unimportant, Potter. Good day."

Harry watched the tall figure retreat to his dark dungeons, and shortly after slipped off to the comfort of his own quarters.

---

Something was pressing against Harry's darkness, disturbing his oblivion. His guard was up and dream shields he had been taught to create in Occlumency lessons were quickly and strategically placed to keep out the unwanted.

But it was only a very soft voice, after all. So Harry let it in.

"Harry," it coaxed. "Harry, it's me. Don't shut me out. I need to talk to you." His own green almond-shaped eyes smiled at him as he lowered his defenses slightly, recognising the voice. "I have something important to tell you, Harry." Around the eyes grew a fair-skinned face that was painfully familiar.

"Mum?" Harry mumbled in his sleep, squinting to better see her beautiful face.

"Don't be scared, Harry. I've come to help you, to warn you." Even as Harry watched, she grew before his eyes into the woman who waved at him from photographs he treasured. "You're not safe, Harry."

Words stuck in his throat. He had thought so many times about moments like this, about what he would say if he met his parents in heaven, what he would tell them about his life. Met with the actuality, all his imagined conversations melted away, and all he felt was a longing for it to just be real. "Mum?" he asked softly, as though speaking loudly we destroy her again. "Is Dad with you?"

"I'm hear to keep you safe, Harry. Please listen to me, it's very important. I don't want you to suffer my end."

Harry frowned. "Your end … Mum, you shouldn't be here – how?"

"There are ways, Harry. There is always a way. I can't stay long. Please, just watch what I have to show you – and take heed."

His mother faded away slightly, and Harry felt a sudden panic that she would leave him. But no. He could still see her, but it was as though her image was a stained glass window, and he could see other, more vivid pictures through her. The red of her hair flickered and shimmered into flames. Then, through the flames, Harry could see the outline of a wooden hut, burning. Sound joined the images, and screaming filled the dark.

"What about the children?" The clear voice came from behind a ghostly mask.

"Oh. Did we not leave them in the hut?" a darkly familiar high-pitched voice replied. "Well, they are no better than rats. Let them be drowned in the Thames with the rest of the vermin." There was a pause, and Harry wished he could see clearly what was happening. "You hesitate, Black? I _am_ disappointed. Your brothers-in-law are so promising. Very well, then, you shall drown with them. If you wouldn't mind, Crabbe?"

Through all this nonchalant discourse the screaming had continued. Now there was a crash as the building's roof collapsed. After that only the burning wood screamed – the rest was deadly silent.

"Two children and three adults died in that single raid. There were two other raids that night, and they used to happen every night. The people who died were Dumbledore's kin, his cousins – they were extremely powerful. He killed all Dumbledore's family before moving on to us. What can you do, Harry, when he turns his eye on you?"

Her voice began to grow thinner, her image had disappeared completely. "Mum? Don't go yet."

"I can't stay. Just remember – find a way to get out before it's too late.

"GO!"

This last shout awoke Harry with a jolt. He sat up and found himself in his bed. The winter sun, just rising over the lake, shone through his window and onto the photograph on his bedside table of his parents. His mother frowned at him, looking worried.

"Don't worry, Mum. It's going to be OK."

But for the first time in his life, Harry was uncertain that everything _would_ be OK.

---

_AN: Please remember to leave a review if you enjoyed!_


	4. Hit That

_Disclaimer: Names, places and everything recognisable as being from the Harry Potter-verse is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Song titles and quoted lyrics from Offspring songs are the property of The Offspring, and also not mine. Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Amadeus, the Scarlet Pimpernel stories, and T.S. Elliot's "The Sword in the Stone" also aren't mine. There are probably references I've missed, and if there are, they're not mine either! (Phew! Long on this chapter!)_

_Summary: In which Harry has a dream and gets too drunk for his own good._

**Hit That**

'Twas the night before the Christmas party and all through the castle, not a creature was stirring – apart from Severus Snape. He was performing his usual late night tour of the castle, and had come to a stop at the entrance to the library.

"No, Mum, don't…"

He frowned, squinting into the darkness. "_Lumos!_" His wand tip lit, casting a warm yellow glow that illuminated the library, the beams of the high vaulted ceiling casting bars of shadow. He walked into the library and started searching between the bookshelves, following a mumblings cautiously.

"I don't … No, wait, I can't!"

He stepped around a final shelf in the Divination section and saw a suspiciously person-shaped bundle of robes draped across one of the tables. Stranger still, the bundle had very familiar tousled black hair and the wand light glinted off of a pair of glasses that peeped out of the heap.

"Potter? What are you doing here at this time of night?"

The sleeping form did not reply. He only moaned in his sleep and twisted away from the light. "Too bright, Mum. No more, please."

Severus sighed, becoming impatient. "Wake up, Potter." There was no movement or reaction, so he laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Harry?" He shook the shoulder gently.

"Mum?"

"Certainly not," Severus mumbled, shaking Harry a little harder and bending closer to his ear. "Harry, wake up."

"_No!_"

Harry jumped awake, glasses askew and hair flattened on one side from where he had slept on it. He blinked, eyes slowly focusing on the dim room around him. "W-where am I?" He looked at the hand still gripping his shoulder. "Severus? Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

"Clearly." It was supposed to be said sarcastically, but he could not hide that he was concerned. "Have you been dreaming about your mother for long? You hadn't mentioned it."

Harry frowned, standing. "You're not my teacher anymore, I don't have to report to you on a daily basis. They're only dreams."

"But about your dead mother."

"I'm aware she's dead, thank you. I've dreamed about her before. What's wrong with that?"

He raised a black eyebrow. "You are becoming irrational and defensive, Potter. I suggest that there is something wrong with _that_."

Harry sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Too little sleep, I think."

"Is this the first dream you've had?"

"No. But it is quite normal to dream about people you miss – especially relatives. Don't worry about it, OK? Everything's fine."

Severus wasn't quite so sure. Generally when things were 'fine', it meant exactly the opposite. But this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such a thing. "You had better get to bed, then. It will be a long day tomorrow, one way or another."

Harry grinned and sidled around the table. "Good night, then. And thank you for waking me."

Severus watched him walk towards the library's entrance, before turning his attention to what had sent him to sleep in the first place. He picked up the thick book and frowned at its title: 'When the Dead Come to Visit'. Harry clearly didn't think this was some normal dream. He tucked the book under his arm and, extinguishing his wand leaving the library dark once again, he exited pondering why Harry would lie to him about something so potentially dangerous.

_Hundreds Flee for Ireland_

_With the growing danger of attack in more and more areas of mainland Britain, Portkey operators have published new statistics that there has been an alarming increase in one-way Portkeys to the Fair Isle. The Irish Parliament for Magic, as with many subjects relating to the war against You-Know-Who, are remaining neutral and giving no comment pertaining directly to the reasons for mass evacuation of England. However, Irish Minister for Immigration and Homing did today release a statement that "Newcomers seeking refuge will always be granted help, regardless of political positions in other parts of the United Kingdom"._

Hermione put down the paper and looked at Harry. "I didn't know you bought Wizarding Times," she said as he dropped into the seat beside her.

"I subscribed after The Prophet went to the dogs. It's the only paper worth reading now." He took the paper and glanced at the article she had been reading. "You would think have thought if they were going to emigrate somewhere it would at least be to somewhere nice and sunny. I mean, America's keeping well out of it, why don't they go to Florida or something?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe they want to be able to come home when it's all over. Assuming there's anything to come home to." She looked grim. "I know I wouldn't want to leave forever."

From the look on her face, Harry thought it was probably time to change the subject. "So, um … How's the preparation for tonight going?"

Hermione grinned. This was obviously a much safer topic. The staff party was to be a masque ball and, as with all things, Hermione was quite determined to have the best costume. "I think it's almost done. What about you?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I haven't had time to go all out, but I don't think you'll be too embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Yes, but what _is_ your costume? You still haven't told me."

"And spoil your surprise? Never!"

To tell the truth, Harry really hadn't spent that much time on his costume – he had only decided on it at the last minute. On leaving Hogwarts as a student, Professor Dumbledore had given him what was left of his parents' possessions. Mostly clothes, photos, books, a couple of pieces of furniture. Apparently there really hadn't been much left – people hadn't been kidding when they said Godric's Hollow was reduced to rubble.

Amongst some of the old dress robes and baby clothes was an odd black suit, cut in an old-fashioned style. It had been identified as his father's wedding present from Remus Lupin. It really looked more like something Snape would wear than his father but, having tried it on, he discovered it was actually very flattering – in a Mr. Darcy sort of way – and it looked very authentic with a Phantom of the Opera style mask.

He later stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, critically looking over the black suit trousers, silk waistcoat and tailed coat. Paired with a cream linen shirt of his own, he thought he didn't look too bad. He had slicked back his hair as best he could, and had found some Muggle double sided sellotape to stick the half-face mask on for the evening. He gently pushed it into place and could easily admire the effect. Perhaps he should cover up his face all the time?

Finishing off with his black winter cloak, he left his room and made his way down the stairs towards the Great Hall.

Music floated up the staircase. He tried to peek through the doorway, but couldn't really see anything. There wasn't an awful lot of sound other than music, so he guessed he must be one of the first to arrive. With a deep breath, he swept around the end of the banister and made his way into the candle-lit hall.

The first thing he noticed on entering was that the head table had been removed, and instead there was a string quartet on the raised stage, playing independent of any musicians. Candles floated around the ceiling like shooting stars in the enchanted sky. There were only two other people in the room standing by a large buffet table, which held an alarming amount of alcohol. One he knew to be Hermione – she had already told him of her costume, even though he didn't fully understand it. The other took a while to place, but Harry could recognise Professor Dumbledore even behind a pair of Bermuda shorts and a very loud T-shirt.

"I can see why it's taken you so long," Harry said, bending to kiss Hermione's cheek. She was dressed all in white lace and feathers, with a white feathery mask that completely covered her head.

"It's supposed to be a mock up of the one in Amadeus," she told him, hoping this time he would know what she was talking about. "But I'm not completely happy with it. I like yours, though."

"Yes, it would seem we are all traditional characters." At Harry's puzzled look, the Headmaster whispered to him, "I am T.S. White's impression of Merlin having spent several months in Bermuda."

Harry nodded but, as usual, didn't really know what the professor was talking about.

"Don't worry, Professor. Harry's immune to books."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm from a book."

"You only know that because I told you. You thought it was just an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical."

Dumbledore offered Harry a large glass of punch. "Well, it sounds perfectly agreeable to me either way, and you look wonderful, Harry."

The other guests arrived over the next half hour in a wide variety of costumes. There were animals and fairytale figures, as well as several more literary figures. Harry now understood why Professor MacGonagall had asked to borrow Hedwig – she had come as The Owl and the Pussycat. But the attendee whose costume Harry really wanted to see didn't appear until last, and even then he sidled into the room as though hoping no one would notice him.

_Fat chance in that!_ Harry thought.

Snape somehow – and Harry really wasn't sure how – managed to look even more Snapeish than usual, without looking like himself at all. Harry had a feeling that, in this context, 'Snapeish' could be synonymous with 'dashing'. His hair was tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck with a red ribbon. He wore a long scarlet frock coat with a high collar, and cream satin breeches with knee high leather boots. His mask was white, similarly form-fitting to Harry's, but covering both eyes and cheekbones so that only his nose and mouth were exposed.

"Welcome, Sir Percy" Dumbledore smiled and greeted the Professor.

_Of course, _Harry thought, _the Scarlet Pimpernel_.

Dumbledore introduced everyone by reference to their character. "Allow me to introduce you to Constanza Mozart and the Phantom of the Opera." He smiled. "If I had known there would be so many figures from history, I would have held the party while the students were still here."

From the tight set of Snape's mouth, it was clear he found this idea as appealing as Harry himself did.

"Well then, let the festivities commence!" Dumbledore twinkled mischievously, and made his way to the other side of the room.

"He's up to something," Snape muttered under his breath.

Harry chuckled and handed his colleague a glass of punch. "You'll need this. I think I know what he's planning and he's got a conspiritor."

Snape took the punch with a querying eyebrow. Harry nodded his head at Hermione, who was happily distracted explaining her costume to Madam Pomfrey.

"If I could have everyone's attention, please." The string quartet were now motionless on the stage and Professor Dumbledore stood before them. "Welcome, one and all, to the 379th annual Hogwarts Staff Christmas Party. Tonight we shall begin the festivities with an organised first dance. If you would all like to remove your masks, your partner for the dance will be found written inside. The partners are, of course, completely random." He twinkled knowingly and removed his wizard's hat. "Ah, Professor Granger. If you would join me in this dance?"

Hermione grinned and stepped forward to join him on the dance floor. Harry removed his mask with trepidation. As was somewhat expected, the name 'Severus Snape' glowed there in silver letters. _At least I get to dance with the best dressed bloke here_, he thought. "Well, I hope you know how to lead, because I am one useless dancer."

Professor Snape didn't look nearly as put out or angry as Harry had expected. "As with all things, Potter, I shall be the master and you the novice." He inclined his head in a small bow and offered his hand to Harry.

"You don't mind?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I have learnt that, at these parties, it is best to allow things to take their natural course and not rock the boat. I would suggest you do the same, if you want a reasonably peaceful evening."

Harry downed the rest of his glass, the third one of that night, and took the callused hand, allowing it to lead him to the dance floor where more traditionally paired couples were already waltzing. The hand was lifted and Harry found amused black eyes staring down at him. "A waltz does require a certain amount of physical proximity, Professor."

The penny dropped and Harry stepped closer, blushing as he felt an arm slide around his waist and tighten, pulling him closer still. He raised his own free arm and rested his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Ready when you are."

Severus leaned down and whispered in Harry ear, "Don't worry, Potter. I'll be gentle."

He barely had time to chuckle before they were swept into a slow waltz with the other couples. Harry tried his best to concentrate on his feet, although he privately admitted that Snape was a good lead and made the dance quite easy.

"Don't look now, but I think we're being watched." Harry blinked, and looked up. Hermione and Professor Dumbledore were dancing with both their heads turned towards Severus and Harry.

"Nosy buggers. Almost makes you want to do something to get them over excited."

"Quite," he replied. "Now if you could just remove your heel from my big toe so we can continue?"

Harry noticed that they had stopped dancing, and did as requested so they could start again. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I've suffered worse."

Harry found that he was actually quite enjoying himself and, while it couldn't be helped that the cosy arm around his waist was attached to Severus Snape, he found he didn't mind that much. It was nice just to be against a nice warm body again, and Snape was just the right height for Harry to rest his head on his shoulder. It did have the unfortunate side effect of intensifying the already slightly drunken spin of the room and Harry was sure he heard a slight snort of amusement from somewhere above him, but he could live with that.

"I think it's time you stood up on your own before we cause a scandal, Potter."

Harry smiled and stepped away, the dance having ended. "Wouldn't want that. Not so soon after the last one, at least."

That made Severus pause and frown, but he followed Harry to the punch table all the same.

They were given a suspiciously wide berth for most of the evening, and any who did come to talk to them were quickly ushered away by Hermione or Professor Dumbledore. Harry found he didn't mind too much. Snape was actually pretty interesting if you drank enough. And was it the alcohol, or was Snape flirting with him? He had definitely complimented Harry on his costume. Wasn't that practically an invitation for sex when coming from him?

As soon as Harry started singing 'The Landlord Likes to Polish His Broom', Severus had decided enough alcohol had entered young Potter's system. "Come on, Potter, I'll walk you to your rooms."

Harry grinned up at him. "Sure thing." He took Severus' hand for the second time that evening. Snape rolled his eyes, but did not pull back his hand.

"Harry." Harry said in a definite voice.

"I'm delighted to see you're not so inebriated you've forgotten your own name. Half a point to Gryffindor."

"No. That's what you called me when you woke me up last night. It was nice. You never usually do that, except for sometimes when you're not really thinking about it, and I think it's because you find it harder to make Harry sound as scummy as Potter."

Severus looked at him askance. "You're aware, of course, that that sentence made absolutely no sense?"

"You expected it to?" he asked hopefully.

"Not really, no."

"Well, anyway, I like it when you call me Harry."

They had reached the door to his rooms. "Then good night, Harry."

Harry still held his hand. He smiled and pulled Snape closer. "Good night, Severus." He reached up onto his toes and pressed his lips against Snape's. The mask was hard against his nose, but the lips over his were pleasantly soft and warm and comforting and moving and…

Not there anymore.

"You are drunk, Potter. Go to bed."

Severus was walking away. This wasn't good. "Wait, hang on!"

"Go to bed," he called without looking back.

Harry sighed and shook his head, but still followed the good advice.

_AN: A long chapter this week to make up for the last one being so short. Sorry the chapter title was such a cop out, but I couldn't fit in what I wanted for this one, so the next one will be what this one was supposed to be. (Yeah, that made sense!) Please review!_


	5. Can't Get My Head Around You

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all terms related to Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Lyrics from The Offspring and other references to their songs must be acredited to Dexter Holland and the rest of the band.Technicolour, so far as I know, belongs to technicolour!_

_Summary: In which the author does her favourite thing – forces two inarticulate people to have a conversation about their feelings! (Oh, also bad stuff happens)._

**Can't Get My Head Around You**

"No hangover cures this morning, I suppose?"

Hermione scowled at her friend. "No. My supplier doesn't seem to be very impressed with you at the moment. He thinks you deserve to suffer for a while."

"And I don't suppose he did anything as useful as explain why I deserve to suffer? I can't personally remember that much."

"He said you got very drunk and did something indiscreet, which I've taken to mean you tried to snog him."

"Ah yes." Harry grimaced over his toast. "You must be delighted, that's item twelve you can scrub off your to-do list."

"Hardly." She pushed a mug of coffee into Harry's hands. "You know, for a gay man you really have very little sensitivity for the feelings of others."

"I resent that stereotype. I don't see why I should be any more sensitive than Ron or any other man just because I take it up the arse."

"If not because you're gay then because you're no longer a teenager. Harry, are you even mildly interested in Snape or just bored?"

Harry thought this was a little rich from the woman who, until this morning, had been using every excuse to push himself and Severus together, but considered her question none the less. He had to admit that it had been nice to be held last night – but did it make any significant difference to him that it had been Snape holding him? He had certainly been horny and in search of a shag, but with his former Professor? I mean, who _would_ want Snape, with his arrogant smirk and piercing black eyes and really quite athletic physique. Who would want that dark velvet voice whispering sweet nothings in their ear? Or those long, strong fingers tangling in their hair as cruel lips melted into a soft kiss?

Harry decided quite firmly that, in point of fact, he did.

After all, last night had been far from painful. No previous lover had ever danced with him or talked to him about any topic other than Voldemort and war. Snape's now-blatant sex appeal aside, it made quite a material difference to be talked to like a normal human being.

"There is a certain amount of _mild_ interest, yes," Harry eventually replied, trying not to blush at his understatement.

"I had rather thought so." His friend sighed and looked at him fondly. "Whatever my biases might be, I know a right answer when I see it."

Harry bit his tongue against the 'know-it-all' comment that threatened to erupt from his mouth. "So what do I do?" he asked instead, finding himself surprised that he actually wanted to do anything. Aside from 'the boy who lived' stuff, when it came to relationships he was more 'the man who hid until the most likelihood of a shag'.

"I think a conversation is called for." Harry cringed. "A _sober_ conversation, and there's no need to look at me like that because what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

"How do you know it won't kill me? Snape has been known to throw large breakable objects at my head, you know."

"Oh, grow up, Harry."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the safer topic of breakfast. This was not something to be attempted on an empty stomach.

---

"How's your head?" Severus asked without looking up from his term papers.

Harry grimaced. "I've had worse."

Silence reined, and Severus still wasn't looking at Harry. Desperate measures were called for. "Look, I know I was completely ploughed last night and I probably didn't act in a … prudent manner."

Snape was not smiling or looking forgiving. In fact Harry recognised that as the scowl he used to receive after accidental hexes during Occlumency lessons. "Allow me to save you the trouble, Potter. It never happened and you would prefer I not mention this to anyone. How close am I?"

"No, that's not it at all. If you'd just let me finish."

"I don't think I want to hear it," he said quietly. He raised his head but would still not meet Harry's eyes. "Fun as it would have been to end up as Harry Potter's conquest of the evening, I'm sure there are many other ways I could crawl into the gossip columns if I really try."

"Why _are_ you so insufferable?" Harry knew that as an apology this was not going so well. "I came here to say sorry for being a lecherous drunk and to thank you for a really nice evening, and all you can do is rant on about how, in a hypothetical situation, I'd treat you really badly."

"When I should, of course, grovel for your attention and you good opinion. Is that really what you expected, Potter?" Now Snape had no problem scowling at him directly, which Harry didn't consider a positive development.

"That's not what I've ever expected, of anyone, least of all you, because God forbid you actually make this easier for me."

"It's not always about _you_, Potter," he spat. "I think this little discussion is over. Unless you have anything further to add, I request you leave. Now."

Harry scowled, ignoring him. "I just don't get you, you're not making any sense. The way you were acting last night – and I know you weren't drunk. I thought you might actually be interested, and now you don't give a shit because I made the dire mistake of trying to come on to you? Well, you're faking something, and I can see it. You're not hiding from me Severus. I can see you in glorious technicolour!"

He turned to go but paused in the doorway. "A couple of days ago you told me not to forget that I'm important. I think maybe you need to remember that about yourself."

With that, Harry was through the door and Severus was once again alone.

---

Professor Hermione Granger was not having a good day. Her hair was being frizzy, the chimney in her room was emitting disturbing amounts of soot and she was still finding feathers in parts of her anatomy that feathers should never touch. Add to that an event that had last night seemed so certain, now looked to be well and truly down the plug hole, and it was possible this wasn't going to be such a very merry Christmas.

"How did your chat with Severus go?" she had asked Harry at lunch.

She had received the 'f' word in response: "_Fine_."

After that he had remained sullen and silent on the subject, so Hermione made her way to the dungeons in hopes of more sense.

"Merlin, I _am_ popular today," came her sarcastic welcome.

Hermione found her colleague in his chambers, nursing a large glass of brandy with a thick book open on his lap. "Good evening. I'll cut to the chase. Did Harry apologise?"

"Ah, so you put him up to that. I thought he must be too dense to have come up with it himself."

Hermione stood before the fireplace with her hands on her hips in full teacher mode. "No, I did not 'put him up to it'. He asked for advice and I pointed out it might be a decent gesture on his part. Whatever lunacy he spouted as a result is nothing to do with me." She gave a wry smile. "You haven't forgiven him yet, I take it?"

"'Yet'? You have a very odd idea of your friend's powers of persuasion. No, Professor Granger, I will not be falling into his open thighs any time before the Dark Lord dances the fandango."

"Might I ask why?"

"No. Now sit down, you're blocking the heat."

Hermione complied, sitting opposite him with her arms crossed. "You're as bad as each other, you know. I can't get a word of sense out of either of you."

"Then perhaps you should leave your match-making to more suitable couples, you're clearly wasting your time here."

"Of course," Hermione said, in a voice of contempt she had wholly learned from the man before her. "Because you were both _so_ uncomfortable holding hands and snuggling up together on the dance floor last night."

"Drunken idiocy on his part."

"And on yours?"

His jaw clenched. "Sober idiocy. Now if you don't mind, I'm rather busy at the moment."

"No you're not, Severus," she replied quickly. "You're reading a book and drowning your sulks." Sometimes Hermione surprised herself with the familiarity with which she spoke to the teacher that had once reduced her to tears. There was a lot to be said for sharing life-or-death experiences with another person.

"On the contrary, I'm trying to discover why Potter has reverted to old habits."

Hermione frowned, turning her head to get a better idea of the book he was reading. "I assume you're not talking about wanking in the boys' toilets?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge." He indulged himself in a slight smile. "I found him asleep in the library the night before last. He was talking in his sleep to his mother. He had fallen asleep on top of 'When the Dead Come to Visit', and flicking through it now I can see why. It's enough to make the most hardy scholar fall asleep."

"I wouldn't say there's anything very surprising about him dreaming about his Mum. A lot of bereaved people do it."

"You miss the point, Hermione. He shouldn't be dreaming at all, not since he mastered Occlumency. Also it's very unusual for people to accurately dream about people they have never met, family or not."

Hermione had to concede. "Do you want me to see what I can find out?"

"If you would. Take care, though – he got very defensive when I questioned him about it."

She nodded. "I'll leave you in peace, then. Just one more question." He raised an eyebrow, which Hermione took as permission to continue. "Are you sure it's just idiocy, this thing between you and Harry? I could always give him another nudge…"

"In the first place, I think we should make sure he's not being possessed by his dead mother before anything else, and in the second place, go away."

---

Upstairs in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry was slowly falling asleep. It was only nine o'clock, but he had been feeling tired and irritable all day. After all the arguments it was all he wanted to fall into the abyss of darkness.

Except of course, it wasn't dark. There were the flames everywhere that had haunted his dreams since his mother had started talking to him. Flames that licked and singed his parents' corpses in Godric's Hollow, that consumed Glastonberry and Diagon Alley. Flames that hissed at him in the dark: "You're not strong enough to stop this, and you never will be." His mother showed him these images because she wanted him safe, away from the castle. She had shown him every death she had been forced to witness or clear up, ending with her own. She didn't think Harry could stop this destruction – he would only be swept away by it. She showed him his corpse next to theirs, the flames slowly engulfing him. Everyone at Hogwarts, dead and burning. All the people he had ever cared about – Hermione, Albus, even Snape – all gone in one swift blow.

Harry began to think of the many simple things he could not do. He could not hold together a working relationship, he could not start a new one, he could not work with another gay man without thinking of him in terms of sex. He was not a successful adult. He was twenty years old and still at the same school, still with his old friends.

Except for Ron. Ron who no longer wrote or visited, who he had not seen since the start of term. Ron, whose father he could not save. How many others had died because Harry had not been strong enough? Because he had failed or got in the way? Parents, children, friends, siblings. He was responsible for them all.

In that dark tower room, Harry agreed. Even as he dreamt, he remembered the article about Ireland. His mother grasped at it and thrust it at him, pushing at him and pushing at him.

"Alright," he finally agreed.

---

In another dark, upstairs room at the Dovecote Inn, a hunched, sickly, lixard-like man and his masked friend grinned at each other in the candlelight. "It is done," she whispers, as though afraid to break the silence for fear that her work would be undone.

"Thank you, Bella. Your efforts have been duly noted. Kindly send Lucius in."

Bellatrix Lestrange grinned and left the round table, passing the blond haired man on her way through the door. He raised a questioning eyebrow and her grin widened. She had done it. She had succeeded where he had failed.

Bellatrix closed the door behind her, and the old man smiled at his faithful servent. "It is time to rally the troops, Lucius. Let us move tonight towards Hogsmead."

Lucius bit on the inside of his cheek, unsure how far his master would take this campaign. "And after that?"

"After that, we will wait until things are finally settled with the Potter brat, and then we will lay siege to the castle until the mad old fool gives it up."

"May I be permitted a moment of ignorance, my lord?" Lucius knew he was treading on thin ice, but there was something that had confused him since the latest plot against Potter had begun.

"I am feeling bennevolent tonight. You may."

"Why, when there is no Potter, no children and next to no mudbloods, do we need to bother with Hogwarts?"

"My dear Lucius, the reason you do not understand is because you have never felt the power of that one castle. Hogwarts is not simply a school. There is more power in _one_ of its stones than even your Slytherin mind can begin to dream of. The King of that castle is the effectively the King of ancient wizarding civilisation. The reason Salazar Slytherin was evicted from its walls was his wish to utilise its full potential to the correct end. Now, Lucius, the castle's power will be returned to its rightful owner, by blood and power."

---

_AN: Next installment – more bad stuff. Please review._


	6. Lightning Rod

_Disclaimer: As usual, Harry Potter and its characters and universe are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. The lyrics and song titles used in this story are property of Dexter Holland and The Offspring, for they do indeed rock. Stondyr in Ireland is incredibly made up, and I hope no Irish people take offense that I made their nation slightly politically ... um … unstable, I guess. Similarly, I have nothing against French prostitutes. I've heard they're the best in Europe._

_Summary: In which Harry takes a holiday and we experience something of Occlumency. (I'm tearing my hair out because aren't putting my --- page breaks in, so I apologise in advance if at any point scenes change without warning – their fault not mine! If anyone has any advice on dealing with this problem, please let me know.)_

**Lightning Rod**

Harry had spent the last four days hiding. He hid from Hermione, who apparently now also knew about his dreams; he hid from Snape, which was made easier by the fact that Snape also seemed to be hiding from him. He most especially hid from himself, from the quiet repressed little voice that told him what he was doing wasn't right. It probably wasn't.

Harry had never been a selfish person. That was something other people, like Dudley Dursley or Draco Malfoy, had as a fault. He just wasn't very good at anything. That was the reason he had to go.

Now was the night for his departure. He stood atop the Astronomy Tower for a final look at the Hogwarts grounds he would be leaving behind as the stars above him came out into bloom, thousands upon thousands twinkling down at him. Thousands and thousands of people fighting, people in danger. He was just one man.

"Why?" he asked the knowing stars. They knew the answer, but would not tell him.

The air smelled of rain. It was warm enough that the snow had largely melted away, leaving the ground muddy and wet. Harry was glad he was leaving his best boots behind. He would hate to get them dirty for such a guilty act as running away.

_I'm not running away. I'm doing it for Mum._

He repeated this to himself over and over as he walked down the gravel path towards the great iron gates. He carried on repeating it as he apparated to the Hogsmead portkey station, and while the guard checked his ticket, which had been bought under a false name. It became his mantra as he lay a finger on the dusty table lamp, alongside an alarming number of other frightened and guilty looking people.

By the time he felt the pull behind his bellybutton and the earth shift from beneath his feet, he realised it was too late to go back. The solid earth was already re-forming beneath him and the world was beginning to stop whirling. The throng of people stood on a hill, the night sky unfolded above them, as clear as it had been at Hogwarts. Harry felt as if it was still so near, as if he could walk to the bottom of the hill and the castle that had been his home for so many years would still be there, as grand and magnificent as the first day he saw it.

The families who had travelled with Harry huddled together and left quickly, as though trying to get a head start. Those who were alone took longer to disperse. Harry guessed that most of them had planned this journey as quickly as he, and also had no where to go or stay the night.

In the end, Harry and the other silent, lonely wizards and witches trudged down the hill, heading towards the small group of lights a little way down the dirt track at the hill's base. The village of Stondyr was a remote wizarding community that only took incoming portkeys. It had no actual station. That was why Harry had chosen it – it was a one-way ticket to starting afresh.

---

"Excuse me, Hermione," said a soft voice from behind her.

Hermione grimaced. Her head hurt and she did not want riddley conversations. "Yes, headmaster?"

She looked up from the Arithmancy text she had been pretending to study – actually just enjoying the silence of the library after a rough night. The old wizard was smiling, but Hermione could see his eyes weren't twinkling.

"I was wondering, have you seen Harry today?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't feeling up to breakfast this morning, and I haven't seen him around the castle. He's been getting a bit reclusive lately – Busy with marking or something, I expect. Why?"

"Harry did not join you in the Three Broomsticks last night, then?"

Hermione frowned. "No."

Dumbledore sighed and eased himself into the chair opposite her. "Would you mind awfully if I asked you to betray a possible confidence?"

"I'd rather not, but I'm not entirely sure I understand the circumstances. Is something wrong?"

"I visited Harry's rooms early this morning to discuss some rather disturbing developments." He waved his hands at Hermione's attempts to interrupt. "It will wait a little longer. This is more pressing. Harry was not in his rooms. I have looked around the castle, searched his usual haunts, and can find neither hide nor hair of him. The portraits haven't seen him since last night. I was rather hoping you could shed some light on his whereabouts. Is there anywhere else you can think of that he would have spent the night?"

"One or two, both very unlikely. He and Severus are still being annoyingly indifferent, and I haven't heard him talk about the Weasleys since I-don't-know when." She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "He's not been himself the last couple of days, and we haven't really talked properly for a while. To tell the truth, we've been quite worried about him."

"'We', Hermione?"

She tried her best to avoid his gaze, knowing that she had not been given permission by either man to discuss Harry's dreams with Professor Dumbledore, but she could see no way around it. "Severus and I. It really should be him telling you this, though. He's been worried about Harry for a while now. Harry's been having funny dreams. Severus heard him talking in his sleep, but when I asked him about it he told me they'd stopped. He said everything was OK."

"Thank you, Hermione. If you wouldn't mind accompanying me to my office, I shall summon Severus and see if we can glean anything further."

---

I really see no point in this exercise in futility, Albus. If Potter has vanished then he doesn't _want_ to be found."

Hermione scowled at Professor Snape for the first time in two years. "This is assuming he's vanished of his own free will and hasn't just been killed or kidnapped or something."

"If you could kindly stop squabbling, children." Dumbledore had a face of thunder that quelled their arguments to mutual glares of disapproval. "This is more important than either of you know. The reason I was attempting to contact Harry this morning in the first place was because Alastor Moody made a request of me this morning. He has asked that all non-essential forces be moved to the Hogsmead gates. There are numbers gathering there. They are not being stealthy and they are in no rush. I believe his words were, 'if patience could be brazen, this lot are painted up worse than a French whore house.'"

"Such a way with words, Moody."

Whatever the words of his message, its meaning was very serious and I have sent preliminary forces into Hogsmead. I wished to inform Harry that a choice was before him: to stay and wait for them to reach the castle, which we know they will, or to go into Hogsmead with Remus and the others and hold them back for as long as possible. Now it would seem there is no choice to be made."

There were a few minutes' silence. Severus steepled his fingers, frowning. "Intriguing, is it not, that they choose the day Potter buggers off for a holiday to make the final push."

"I don't think any of us are foolish enough to take that as a coincidence, Severus," Hermione said quietly.

"I am certainly of your mind, Professor Granger. But now you see why my urgency to bring Harry back. The entire war pivots on him. By being elsewhere he places himself and all of us in danger."

Severus shuddered inwardly, knowing Harry's dilemma himself. Since his ousting from the Death Eaters, he had heard nothing but professed fear for his safety. Where once he had led an active role in the fight against the Dark Lord, he was now trapped in his own home teaching brats who couldn't care less. It only now occurred to him that he had not been the only prisoner in Hogwarts – both he and Harry had been kept 'safe' at the castle. Perhaps now would be the time to stop hiding and actually do something to help. "What can I do?"

He did not look up, fearing the response would be the customary 'nothing', but instead, "I need you to contact him. If someone has already been using Occlumency against him, as you suspect, his defences should be relatively low, and he has grown so used to your mind I feel sure that you would receive the best reception."

Severus snorted. "That would depend on your definition of 'reception'. I have reason to believe my reception would be rather frosty."

Albus and Hermione shared a look of combined incredulity. "I think on this one occasion we may risk Professor Potter's ire, Severus. Now, if you could just find some sort of location, a name, anything would be helpful."

Severus sighed and closed his eyes, clearing his mind and falling into the familiar rhythm of his breathing and the darkness of the subconscious. Although it had been over two years since he had last attempted breaking the barriers into Harry's mind, he knew the best route and could easily find his way through the dark and distance to the mind that felt like Harry's.

He had been surprised the first time he practiced Occlumency with Potter. It was rare to find any wizard that kept their mind as open, knowingly or not, as his. For most people, the subconscious held darkness and secrets, but with Harry it was all laid out before him. Warm fuzzy Quidditch memories stretched out alongside cold bullies and duals, each memory as easy to grasp as the next. Now almost all images had been closed behind tall, black doors, although Severus was disturbed to see how lax Harry had grown in the last two years. Many of the doors were ajar, and some of the more recent memories – Severus caught a brief glimpse of his own face close up, eyes closed, being kissed – were open to clear display. "Explains a lot," he muttered to himself.

He carried on down the partially lit corridor, searching for the end, not knowing what he would find when he got there. As what he had witnessed thus far proved, a lot of a person's mind could change in two years.

A solid black wall made of damp stone. He arched an eyebrow. This was a wall he recognised. The stone were all large and roughly cut, and there was a square dent where a window had been blocked up. It was the wall outside his chambers in the dungeons at Hogwarts.

"Very funny," he mumbled, fingers lightly stroking the wall, testing for flaws. In the silence he could hear voices on the other side of the wall. That wasn't a good sign. Not only did it mean the wall was exceptionally thin – thinner than it should be – but it meant Harry was not alone in there.

"Enough games, Potter. Now let me in."

The dank earth shuddered beneath his feet, and for a glorious moment Severus thought it really would be that simple.

"_No!_" he heard yelled from the other side of the wall in a voice that was not Harry's.

"If you can be at home to stranger then you can most certainly be at home to me. Stop being a brat and let me in."

The wall warmed beneath his hands – Severus could feel Harry chuckling. A scraping noise was coming from the wall itself. The blocked up window's stones were starting to come loose, dust from the cement between them falling to the floor. He pressed his face against the wall, trying to peer through the crumbling mortar. Orange light glowed through it. This was Harry's essential mind. It had darkened and grown since Severus had last met with it, but he tried to look past it to what Harry was seeing. Candle light and a bar, glinting amber bottles, a woman wearing a black shirt with a silver tree printed on its front.

"_TRAITOR!_"

Severus jumped away from the wall as a green snake slithered through the crack in the mortar. It grew before his eyes, rising up and baring its long, sharp fangs.

"No," he whispered, slowly backing away as the snake hissed menacingly. "No .. Albus…"

His head swam and he was moving away quickly. Too quickly, he felt. The earth was falling from under him and the comforting dark had been replaced with bright white light.

"Severus, open your eyes. You're quite safe now."

He cracked his eyes open. He was still in Albus' office, the light was only the winter sun shining through the window. The room lurched around him, and then swam as tears filled his eyes. He closed his eyes against them, furiously trying to catch his breath as his heart hammered in his chest. "The White Oak," he muttered, his mouth dry and the sound coming from it making more than the room lurch. He tried to swallow but couldn't. "Stondyr. He's in Ireland."

He vaguely saw Albus nod and stand, before the room swam out of focus for good and he was back in the dark.

---

_AN: The next installment is well on the way, and I think the end is beginning to be in sight. Please remember to review._


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